


A New Way to Breathe

by marblesharp



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Coin Victorious, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Mockingjay, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marblesharp/pseuds/marblesharp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You act like you've never broken the rules before." AU where the war ends, but not as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Way to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shesasurvivor](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shesasurvivor).



> Prompt: _Haymitch and Johanna find new ways to heal together, and find a new lease on life, after the war._
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, Deathmallow! I own nothing.

In the end, the girl on fire was incinerated. The bombs in the City Circle got her as well as her sister. The coroners were only able to differentiate between the two because Primrose Everdeen was a bit shorter than her older sister. Embraced in death, with Katniss holding her sister beneath her, their photograph became the last propo needed to win the war.

Most of Star Squad 451, including Peeta Mellark and Finnick Odair, were either taken out by pods or that first bomb in the apartment complex. There wasn't much of any of them left to bury.

Gale Hawthorne was recognized, arrested, and shot by Peacekeepers after an escape attempt.

President Alma Coin honored these martyrs to the rebellion in a speech, dedicating a monument for them in the Capitol, now District Fourteen. That was before she botched the execution. Her archery skills are nonexistent; she never lived off the bow. The flaming arrow - a poetic symbol meant for another - planted in the overthrown president's abdomen, and before the nation, Coriolanus Snow burned.

It's as though the entire rebellion went up in flames. What did any of them expect, though?

 

The remaining victors - only five, damn it _all_ \- are ordered to return to their home districts, where they are to remain for the rest of their lives. The way President Coin phrases it, it's as though this is some kind of compensation.

Enobaria and Beetee leave on the first available flight to their respective districts, eager or maybe anxious to see who and what is left of either.

Before, Beetee spares Haymitch a hurried farewell. He hands Haymitch a slip of paper by shaking his hand, holding his grasp long enough to tell him, "I look forward to seeing you in the future. Panem will be in good hands."

Haymitch winces, trying to disagree without alerting any suspicion. He's not much of a threat anymore, though; he's barely awake and hasn't consumed anything that wasn't alcohol for weeks now. Pocketing the paper, deciding it's folded for a reason, Haymitch watches the older man amble up the hovercraft. Somewhere in his mind he's aware he'll never see Beetee again - the older man must be delusional to think otherwise - and that he should be sad, but Haymitch is just too _tired_ to care. He's no stranger to loss, even recently.

When Annie kisses his cheek after their murmured goodbyes, Haymitch wonders what kind of future they've left for the hard swell of a baby that briefly presses into him. The rebels won but, unlike Beetee apparently, Haymitch suspects they're in no better hands. At least the kid won't be reaped. They accomplished that much.

Verbena Everdeen doesn't look at him, and he's _glad_.

With tears and several caresses to her somewhat swollen middle, Annie Cresta-Odair returns to District Four with Verbena and a flock of doctors. They plan to build a hospital, and Annie will be in it, under Coin's endorsement. Haymitch knows Annie and Verbena both need the company for distraction so he doesn't ponder whether Annie will be released postpartum for too long.

Johanna is unusually quiet as she prepares to depart on a hovercraft stocked with emergency supplies for Seven. Haymitch walks with her onto the runway, the only one left to say goodbye. Once she leaves, he'll board the next flight for Twelve. He may have to wait a day or so; there's not much travel there since nothing - and no one - is left.

Johanna turns to him, frowning. "I honestly don't know what to say."

"Well, shit. That's a first."

That draws a reluctant chuckle from her. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole. You've only got a few moments with me before we never see each other again."

They fall silent at the truth finally spoken aloud. They're _never_ going to see each other again, and worse, they're both going home to nothing.

"We've still got telephones," he tries, but Johanna rolls her eyes, uncomforted. They know it won't be the same.

Haymitch's throat tightens as she reaches for a rare embrace. Remembering the bag full of some of his possessions and many liquor bottles at his hip, he adjusts it behind him before meeting her hug. She's warm and solid yet small against him. He's no longer used to this kind of contact from anyone so he holds her a bit guardedly, nonetheless appreciating how they're not hiding behind sarcasm, instead just openly, wordlessly admitting that they'll miss the hell out of the other.

Against his jaw, Johanna whispers, "Come with me."

He thinks of District Twelve, completely empty and reduced to ashes. He's failed every tribute, every person from there. He may deserve the shame of renewed solitude but... that doesn't mean he'll yield to it.

They pull away from each other, and she's going to board the hovercraft and leave him on the tarmac to decide whether to wait until he's in Twelve to off himself or just do it here, in the very place that's damned him. There's no one left to disappoint, anyway.

His decision is quick and therefore slightly reckless.

"All right."

They board the hovercraft as casually yet hurriedly as possible and sit cramped among the boxes of supplies. Haymitch is shocked that the workers on board make no attempt to rebuke him. Then again, they're busy following their own commands. Perhaps they're unaware of the victors' exile. Still, Haymitch anticipates the worst.

"You act like you've never broken the rules before," Johanna remarks as Haymitch glances out the window of the hovercraft again.

"First time in a while I don't know what to expect."

Johanna snorts, her head falling back against the seat. "Don't worry about Coin. She's no Snow on that front."

"How do you know that?"

With a shrug, Johanna observes the Capitol shrinking under them impassively. "She's doing this to dismiss us. We're not important anymore." She pulls her legs up so she sits under them.

"We were important before?" he asks, and it's only half a joke. She snickers, anyway, and tells him to shut up.

Relenting, Haymitch sighs as he stretches his arms out as much as his seat belt allows and rests his elbows on either side of him, on top of the seat. He's not touching Johanna but feels her shift so she's closer to him. He doesn't overanalyze the action; they're friends, and they're all they've got left. If she wants to find some comfort in their situation, he's not going to complain. Otherwise, what's the point of sneaking off with her?

Staring out at the clouds, Johanna says, "I think you'll like Seven. Lots of trees."

He twists around, facing her, his expression mock disbelief. "No fucking way."

She pushes his elbow that's closer to her off its perch, laughing. "I swear!"

"Not like I haven't been there before," he reminds her, settling back in his seat.

"Only our Town Center. The Victors' Village is out farther, and there's so much more to see - _besides_ trees. And there's all kinds of those, and so many that the war damage isn't even too bad."

"I guess firebombs were out of the question there, yeah," replies Haymitch, a grim note in his tone.

Johanna understands immediately. "Guess so." She frowns, looking away. "Plutarch updated me. Did he say anything to you about Twelve?"

"No, which means enough." He shrugs. "Doesn't matter to me if I ain't going back there, though."

From her expression, Johanna seems to believe otherwise but she doesn't say anything, which renders the hovercraft uncomfortably silent save for the radio squawks and radar beeps in the cockpit and the whooshing sound of air around them.

Haymitch wonders if the pilot would have left without them, under these vague orders that seem only strict to the victors, and he's glad that's not actually the case. Finally leaving the damn city, immense yet long overdue relief alleviates him; he'll never spend another second in the Capitol - or whatever history will name it - again.

With that burden lifted, he crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes. He falls asleep faster than expected, waking up with a startled gasp when a hand shakes his shoulder.

"Sorry to interrupt your nap, old man, but we're here." As Johanna nods outside the window, Haymitch can only see blinding white snow among the dark green of pine - so much for other trees. There are voices and commotion outside the hovercraft. They've landed.

" _Without_ getting shot out of the sky?" he muses, rising from the seat with a small groan. "I must be off the hook, then."

"We'll have to see. That's part of the fun." Johanna smiles mischievously, then considers the boxes around them. "Let's help carry these out."

Already heaving one up from its place by his feet, Haymitch agrees, "Might as well make a good impression."

 

He's not so much unwelcome as unexpected. While he and Johanna were known friends before the rebellion, most would sooner associate Haymitch with Zane, Chaff, and Seeder than a victor as young as Johanna.

One of the overseers puzzles over how he's going to be assigned a schedule. They were only notified to create one for Johanna. "It's a new mandate from President Coin," explains the overseer who introduced herself as Shona Mulberry, handing Johanna hers, "that everyone has to contribute, and their progress has to be recorded."

"No temporary arm tattoos?" Johanna asks, looking over her schedule distastefully. Haymitch sees LOGGER written on it, but then it's all just a cluster of numbers and coordinated areas and types of trees organized into a schedule. Being from Seven, Johanna must recognize what's being asked of her - it's _how_ that's bothering her, and perhaps even _why_ , though it's just like Coin to withhold any privilege from even the remaining victors. Neither will complain, though, when there's so much work to be done across the districts.

"No." Shona hesitates. "Or not yet, anyway."

Haymitch asks, "Even if I can't get an official schedule right now - and there's no hurry, really - is there anything I can do that you know needs more attention?"

Shona doesn't hesitate. "Cleanup. We've plenty of carpenters, architects, and loggers, obviously, but there's not nearly enough laborers to handle the dirty work."

"Lucky thing Haymitch here is the cleanest guy I know." Johanna lays a hand on his shoulder with feigned reverence and promptly drops it at the look Haymitch shoots her.

"I can do it," he tells Shona shortly.

"Okay. Well, judging from the other schedules, that'll be six hours after breakfast - seven o'clock - and five after lunch, at one."

"All work and no play," he remarks. "Thirteen had a bit more variety with Reflection and whatever else."

"Well, this is the postwar reconstruction edition of Thirteen," Johanna reminds him. She addresses Shona, "They're telling us when to eat?"

"The mealtimes are when food will be offered at our rations stands," Shona answers. "We have to figure out your intake, according to our instructions. They even sent out a dietician."

"Who, Thirteen or the Capitol?" Johanna asks with a brow raised.

"Fourteen," Haymitch corrects her wryly. "Though I doubt there's much difference now. That's an interesting geographical situation for Coin: Thirteen and Fourteen on opposite sides of Panem."

"She certainly has a fallback if her new estate doesn't perform to her expectations." Shona shuffles other schedules around in a folder, knowing they heard her without looking at them.

"All that distance, though."

"Exactly," says Shona lightly, and Haymitch decides he likes her.

Johanna suggests unpacking at her house before starting into their work, but Shona waves them off with a free day since it's already late afternoon. As they thank her, the overseer says, "No worries. I'm sure you both need time to yourselves to relax. Coin may not have given you a real reward for all you've done but I will today."

"We won't take advantage of anything else," Haymitch assures her, grateful.

"Good. Though I wouldn't allow you, anyway." With a wink, Shona turns back to her scheduling.

 

Walking toward District Seven's Victors' Village on a slushy pathway, Johanna asks, "You enjoying the scenery so far?"

A cursory glance around him leaves Haymitch a little homesick; the trees in this part of the district aren't the same as in Twelve, all evergreen and enormous, but the surrounding forest reminds him of his district regardless. "It's everything I expect to see in Seven. Why?"

"Wasn't talking about the trees," she singsongs, knocking her shoulder into his arm playfully. He doesn't like the implication of that.

"Now who in the world could you possibly be-?" He remembers Shona's wink earlier and groans. "Oh, that was _completely_ kidding around! She was talking about giving us _time to ourselves_ , for fuck's sake."

She shrugs dramatically, laughing a bit cruelly in Haymitch's mind. "Hey, I wasn't assuming anything about _her_."

He rolls his eyes. "This is too ridiculous to be funny, Johanna. I didn't even consider that, talking with her."

Her laughter dying down, Johanna kicks at some slush and replies, "Maybe not. So you've ruled anything like that out completely?"

Haymitch laughs now, bitter and apathetically so. "A while ago, I did. Right around when I realized it wasn't even an option anymore unless I wanted someone killed. The drinking drove anyone willing away, I'm sure - until these two kids came along but see, even they died violent, painful deaths." He means to sound derisive but his voice cracks as he refers to Katniss and Peeta. That wound hasn't healed yet, obviously, but neither have any of his others and he's still had to deal with them the only way he could. It's excruciating, adding more names to the deadweight that threatens to crush him every moment.

"So your coming here isn't changing anything," Johanna deadpans. They've reached the Victors' Village, where the houses are impressive in appearance, made of logs whereas in Twelve they were - the past tense comes easy to Haymitch - fancy clapboard mansions.

"I came here," says Haymitch, "because I knew we'd be better off this way than alone. As selfish as that is, ain't it also selfless by being so considerate of you?" He smirks, then shakes his head. "I ain't looking for anything here - except maybe something other than pine trees."

Johanna frowns at the blatant change in conversation but acquiesces, replying with an exasperated sigh, "These aren't just pine trees." She points at a tree close to the pathway. "That's a fir."

Haymitch chuckles. "Well, then, I've now experienced the complexity of District Seven's wilderness. I reiterate my earlier opinion that the scenery here is nice albeit too evergreen. There ain't much variety."

"I ought to take you out hiking. I'd love to see you eat your words once you see spruces and alders and cedars."

"Whether I'll be able to tell them apart, you mean," he retorts with a knowing smirk.

Inside, Johanna's house is cold and smells faintly of the district itself, crisp forest fragrances and smoke from the mills in Town. There aren't many personal possessions that would mark this as Johanna's home, except the lingering scent of herself as well.

Immediately, Johanna goes about preparing a fire in the grand fireplace - of course Seven victors would find that the height of high living. She heads outside to her once-abandoned woodpile. Perhaps no one thought to use any of it during the war when there's timber everywhere here or maybe there's dishonor in stealing from a victor. Haymitch suspects it was fear rather than respect that kept people away from his possessions.

In the kitchen, Haymitch slips off his bag and his jacket, sighing a bit at the sudden relief of no longer carrying the liquor bottles. He realizes as he sets the bag down on a chair and the glass inside clinks that he hasn't drank since this morning in Fourteen. He figures the excitement of the day distracted him.

Searching the pantry for lunch without much hope, he's surprised to find Johanna hasn't been ransacked at all. He sets out a can of tomato soup - he remembers her always eating it at the Games Headquarters, over all the other offered Capitol delicacies - and digs through cabinets for a pot.

When Johanna returns with firewood, the soup is heating on the stove and he's removing the rotted food from her pantry and icebox. She builds a fire.

"I should have stolen you years ago," she remarks, sitting down at the kitchen table as Haymitch sets a bowl in front of her. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold outside, and she breathes in the steam, lets it roll over her face.

Haymitch rubs his hands together, out of things to do. He's too sober. He shrugs. "I've got to earn my keep, don't I?"

After a loud slurp, Johanna says, "Now you do! You are my unofficial cook."

"And you've got the fires covered."

"You got that right," she laughs, pointing her spoon at him. Her pout is quick. "Wait, why aren't you eating?"

Haymitch takes up his bag again. "Need to unpack. There's more soup for you in the pot." He heads into the living room, past the fireplace. "Which room?" he asks, ascending the stairs, the guilt mounting with each step.

"Any except the first one on the right," Johanna's voice calls out weakly. She's disappointed - rightly so - but it's not like she can be shocked at this point. Moving to another district doesn't solve everything.

 

Haymitch chooses a bedroom down the hall, on the left. He'd feel too intrusive sleeping right across from or beside her bedroom. It's empty of any of her family members' possessions, thankfully. She must have cleared them out, like Haymitch packed his own family's belongings away in the basement years ago, too sentimental and pathetic to truly rid himself of them.

Haymitch thinks of his house in Twelve's Village, vacant and only clean because of Hazelle Hawthorne's housekeeping before the Quell. The dust must be phenomenal, making it more of a grave than a museum of himself. He hopes someone grows a pair and moves into it, makes it a real home.

The realization of his decision from this morning doesn't hit him until he's filling the closet with his few clothes. Even then, he doesn't dwell on it or else he'd have to remember why he didn't trust himself returning to Twelve alone or even staying in Fourteen for another hour. Other than the comb and the knife he slips into a bedside drawer, all that's left in his bag are the bottles of liquor. He should start into those before he does something stupid - though he's already defied Coin by disobeying her instructions. He wonders when she'll find out that he didn't make his authorized destination.

As Haymitch lies back on the unfamiliar, stiff bed in a house that isn't his in a foreign district, the seal breaks with ease and the bottle meets his lips like it always does. Drinking, the war could still be waging or they even could have lost but it wouldn't matter until he swallows, grimacing. After he grimaces, he acknowledges that the war is over, and they did win.

He just didn't expect to lose them so soon.

The second drink is quicker to his lips yet longer, so long he shudders afterward. He will _not_ think of them. It would be like traveling back to Twelve and walking by their empty houses.

There's a thump on the doorjamb. "Yeah," he calls her in, capping the bottle and sitting up.

Johanna nudges the door open with her elbow. She's brought a bowl of tomato soup, a spoon, and a glass of water as well as a cautious smile. "You can't be my cook, and therefore you can't afford to live here," she says, "if you don't eat, too."

He takes the offered bowl, hot in his hands. Johanna drops the spoon into it, then sets the water on the nightstand. She sits with him on the bed, legs pulled under her.

Mumbling thanks, which is also something of an apology but not really, he spoons the soup into his mouth while she takes the liquor bottle at his side. He glares at her.

"I just want some," she explains, and he nods, and she takes a pull and wipes her mouth. "You've already messed up on your first day, not providing the madame with a proper utensil."

"Excuse me?"

"A spoon, Haymitch." She shakes her head with mock superiority. "I shouldn't be surprised; you hayseeds from Twelve are always so backward in your ways."

He chuckles, almost choking on his soup. "Quoting a commentator?"

"It's just common knowledge at this point." Smirking herself, Johanna stretches out at the foot of the bed and moans a little as her vertebrae pop into place. "There's a roaring fire downstairs that I didn't build for nothing, you know."

Haymitch grunts, his mouth full. When he can, he replies, "It'll warm up the house eventually."

"Whatever. I'm sleeping down there tonight." She rubs the corners of her eyes. "This was my brother's bed. My second oldest brother," she elaborates.

"And?" He doesn't mean to sound disinterested but give her the option to say more without pressure.

Because today has been so unusual that it's given her risky confidence - or perhaps she's just ready to tell him what he already knows - Johanna continues, "And he was nineteen and dating Fillmore Rosenberg and he liked music and he was killed because I killed someone who paid for my virginity but wanted to cut me up first." She stares at Haymitch challengingly. "And you're staying in his room from now on, and that's just _that_."

"Guess so." Holding her gaze, he swigs from the bottle he retrieved from her loose grip. "I remember hearing the news about you that night."

Johanna purses her lips. "From Leslie?"

"Yeah, old Leslie. He got the call in the middle of the night and was in hysterics. Blight didn't know what the hell to do so he just led him down to the bar." Haymitch chuckles. "We let him sort himself out there. He and Blight never attracted the sadistic bastards, you know? So already he was worrying about you."

"Sounds like him," Johanna recalls with a sad smile. He'd been killed by the Capitol during the rebellion.

"When he told us his girl had killed someone, I said that that's what you did in the arena, and then he said that his tributes were already dead and he was talking about you, and I stood by what I said." Haymitch adds, "I still do."

"Even if you hate me for it?" asks Johanna, quirking her brows.

Haymitch frowns at her. "Hate you?"

"I had the choice and knew about your punishment, and I still fucked it up." She shrugs against the gray comforter. "Figured you always resented me for that."

"Did I ever tell you so?" Dread creeps down his spine like melting ice; even though he doesn't remember, he doesn't remember many things he did or said drunk. Still, he doubts he'd ever say that to her when it's not in the least true.

Johanna shakes her head at the ceiling. "But you honestly never thought I was stupid for throwing everything away like that?"

"I thought it was stupid how anyone could be shocked that it happened," Haymitch replies dryly. "That ain't on you."

"Well," she says, her voice terse, "it was; if I didn't do it, this could still be my brother's room."

"Johanna, you were a kid remembering the arena, protecting yourself."

"What am I now, then? What was I when I failed the simulation test in Thirteen?" She glowers at him, and Haymitch remembers that scars cover her body. "I'm not a kid anymore, Haymitch."

"That's completely different," argues Haymitch, but he knows it's not. Both of her breakdowns were spurred by the same reason, and it angers him.

He remembers Snow burning. It helps a little.

Johanna rolls her eyes, obviously disagreeing. She sucks in a breath that Haymitch doesn't hear her release. "I needed you here, for you to come with me. I… don't know what would have happened if I had to see their empty houses or _their_ empty bedrooms alone."

"My logic was about the same, my girl," he admits softly. He offers the bottle, and she takes it.

"We have to wake up before seven for work tomorrow," she reminds him. She slips off the bed - her brother's bed - and, bidding Haymitch goodnight, leaves the room.

He does finish his meal - as well as a bottle of liquor by the time the sun has set. He doesn't venture downstairs to prepare dinner - what they ate could technically be called dinner, anyway - figuring he'd break his neck from falling down the damn things. He has a laugh at that, how he could wind up killing himself today, even on accident. But would it be an accident if he knew he'd fall? He doesn't know.

He falls asleep still wondering.

 

When Haymitch sits upright, he knocks into someone who's screaming. After a few seconds, he feels the cold sweat prickling his back, neck, and forehead as well as the soreness of his throat. He's screaming, too, he realizes, but in his mind, Katniss is still burning and Peeta is trying to save her but he's only harming himself, and Haymitch can't do _anything_ because he's strapped in a chair in the Control Room while Coin's laughing but her voice is Snow's -

" _Wake up!_ "

He's grabbed by the wrists and forced facedown on the bed. More aware now, he doesn't struggle but he can't leave his nightmare entirely.

It's Johanna that sits on his back, holding his arms behind him. She's demanding he release his grip on the knife. Haymitch tries to but it's clenched in his hand. She's able to pry it out, anyway. Falling back onto the bed, she gasps, "You fucking… bastard… giving me a… _heart attack_."

"Sorry," he mumbles, running a hand down his face. "Hasn't been that bad in a while."

Through her panting, Johanna laughs derisively. "And why the fuck would that be, moron?"

Haymitch pulls the pillow over his head. "You can leave now."

"Oh, no," Johanna huffs, stripping off the blankets. The cold air bites into his bare skin. He tugs his shirt hem down, crosses his arms, and curls up, all while glaring at her. "You're by the fire tonight, old man."

She has to help him out of bed; he's still drunk and wobbly. His nausea isn't so intense that he'll need to run to the bathroom - he doubts he can, anyway. The house is dark save for a light in the hallway. He hangs on to Johanna as well as the railing, descending the stairs, his earlier musing about stairs no longer funny.

After she drops him on the rug in front of the fireplace, Haymitch has to ask, "Did I hurt you?" He's known to slash at anything that wakes him so suddenly in the midst of nightmares.

As she prods the logs with a poker, Johanna answers, "No, just almost scared me to death."

"Well, that's fine." He attempts a small, ironic smirk that she can't even see but it wears itself out quickly, anyway.

"Might have a bruised jaw from your forehead, though," she adds reluctantly.

His shoulders slump. "I'm sorry."

Johanna turns to him, the firelight darkening her face where the bruise must be. He's in her shadow. "Don't be," is all she says. She leaves the room for a closet in the foyer and brings back another quilt.

He accepts the blanket. "It was stupid of me, sleeping upstairs; I'm freezing." Even with the heat of alcohol pulsating through him, his body registers how cold it is.

Johanna settles onto the rug next to him, close enough for company but nothing else. The fire will warm them. She says, "We did this the one winter. The bedrooms are too far from the fire, and we were all so used to sleeping close for warmth during the colder months."

"I never got to spend the winter with them in the Village but I bet we would've done the same." He wipes his mouth with his hand. "I'd beg Cory to stay with me to make sure he was safe."

"That helped?"

"Yeah." He pulls the quilt over himself and lays on his side, facing her. Johanna's brown eyes are burning coal in the firelight, and her skin glows like a lantern, which only accentuates the scars he can see.

"I miss them, too - all of them."

Haymitch closes his eyes. His head hasn't cleared up so he's susceptible to crying.

"I was already awake when I heard you. I'm glad you're here," she murmurs as she reaches out for his hand.

He takes it. "Me, too."

 

Over the next few months, Haymitch helps clear out ruined buildings and bury the dead. With the latter task, his teammates have the foresight to only let him dig the graves. Wryly yet silently, he muses the job is fitting since he'd prepared the graves of tributes over the years before their hearts had actually stopped. Anyway, he appreciates the labor in shoveling as well as lifting and carrying rubble out. He needs to be as sober as possible to avoid harm to himself or others, and moving around keeps his mind preoccupied on matters other than drinking.

Work is a good distraction but Johanna is a better one. After they return to Johanna's house, they update each other on their day. Haymitch has more boring, depressing stories so he mostly listens to Johanna talk about logging. She likes being out there again, though the nostalgia is somewhat lost on having to follow Coin's regiment. "You don't log in the winter," she explains to Haymitch with some disgust.

Even as they spend long days helping the district, they always find time to talk and joke before they sleep by the fire. It's become what Haymitch looks forward to most every day, with the liquor - stocked in the kitchen now - a painful afterthought saved for the more difficult times.

He dreads the day he runs out. President Coin has outlawed alcohol, which has influenced rotgut production in Seven and most likely in the rest of Panem as well. Johanna had mentioned brewing with her father before but she can't, and doesn't, offer that service since the food rations are so restricted. Once he's out of his clear Capitol liquor, Haymitch is worried what he'll resort to.

Excepting the rations, which are almost inevitable during postwar reconstruction, District Seven is unable to resist the president's Thirteen influence. No one's marching around in gray jumpsuits yet, and like Shona, many doubt Coin will last long in office. But the schedules and the assigned jobs remind Haymitch too much of the underground district for comfort. He wonders how the other districts are doing - the news reports don't cover much, which reminds him too much of the Capitol.

Haymitch's disobedience hasn't gone overlooked. Within the first week of their arrival, they returned from work to notices on the front door as well as phone calls inquiring after his whereabouts. Haymitch burns the notices in the fireplace, and Johanna makes a game out of answering the phone calls without answering any questions.

After several hilarious renditions of Johanna reciting questions back or assuming a different district accent to confuse the caller, she starts panting and moaning into the phone, and often Haymitch has to stumble into another room to conceal his laughter. Whoever Coin has ordered to contact them doesn't call as frequently in the evening anymore, and leaves more notices on their door to be burned.

They receive an official letter from President Coin herself toward the end of winter. Reading it, Haymitch swears he can hear the woman's stiff lips speaking the words written that tell them Haymitch can legally stay in Seven if he just signs over his house to the authorities in District Twelve. Johanna and Haymitch both laugh at how that was all he had to do, and Haymitch signs his name on the attached document, feeling the melancholy sever of finality even after detaching himself from that place long ago.

Johanna hugs him. "Welcome to District Seven - officially."

 

"So that's a fir, that's a spruce, and so is that one," Haymitch recites as he points to each tree.

"Correct. Fucking finally." Johanna offers him a cookie from the tin as a reward. The recent shipment from Eleven had sugar, and the Seven officials allowed its citizens to splurge, each family unit receiving an allotment of simple cookies.

"There aren't really that many pine trees," remarks Haymitch, biting into the shortbread in thought.

Johanna stops walking to look at him and then up at the trees with elation. "He did it! Better yet, _I_ did it; I've educated the uncultured bumpkin in the ways of the wilderness."

"You showed me how the needles are different."

Johanna shoves him playfully. "And that took a lot of patience on my end! I swear, for someone so clever, you're an idiot when it comes to tree species."

He rolls his eyes. "How could I have lived without knowing _tree species?_ "

"You do live in District Seven now," she points out, grinning. She reaches out to hold his hand, which isn't new, and kisses him, which is.

Haymitch lets go and steps back. He gawks at her, at the eighteen years between them. Thinking back to everything that could have led her to this, he amounts it to desperation, loneliness, and other words that would describe his own situation exactly because he wouldn't have stepped away if he wasn't _him_.

Crossing her arms defensively, Johanna snaps, "What?"

"That is such a shitty idea."

She scoffs. "Well, there aren't many things left to do that won't kill us."

"What, do you have a checklist? Break the rules with me, then once our cover's blown, you fuck me?" Haymitch scowls at her.

Over these past few months, he's picked up on quirks of hers that he'd never have noticed when they only saw each other in the Capitol during the Hunger Games. Even in Thirteen, he hardly crossed paths with her due to their differing schedules, only visiting her in the hospital whenever he wasn't stuck in the War Room or the Control Room. But now, he knows when she's frustrated, she flushes, and when she flushes, there are red splotches on her neck.

Her dark blue scarf dangles from her neck, leaving the splotches - as well as the scars that he tries not to pay attention to - bare to the frigid air. Judging by their amount, she is livid. "Well, you can fuck _yourself_ , for all I care!" She sounds livid, too.

Haymitch lets her trudge away, feeling like the jackass he is huddled in the early spring cold among trees whose names he's just barely memorized. The snow around him hasn't melted completely yet, and he can't believe the war ended when it first began to snow.

He wants to just dismiss what Johanna is feeling as needing to cope with someone, not specifically him. But if he did that, he'd be ignoring his own feelings toward her, which have hesitantly yet not reluctantly grown into something private that he could have without requital. This way is safer.

"But Snow burned alive on live television," he tells the trees in exasperation. Looking around, he's relieved to have avoided any further humiliation today by not getting caught talking to himself. Still, the luminous threat of President Snow was reduced to ashes with the rest of Haymitch's life before the rebellion. It's not an excuse anymore.

He thinks of the kiss, how natural it was for Johanna. Her intentions were clear, that this was no longer just a friendship to her if he would allow it. As difficult it is to imagine someone who wants him, a few minutes ago was proof that it can happen. It did happen. He'd told Johanna the drinking kept anyone new away. He still drinks sometimes, and she still kissed him. His own personal excuses aren't even valid anymore.

Sighing, Haymitch turns back toward the Village, figuring Johanna's probably reached the house and hasn't thought to lock all the doors and windows yet.

 

Thankfully, the front door is unlocked. But when Haymitch enters, he's met with silence. The clock in the kitchen reads a quarter after eight. There's a small fire in the fireplace but even the living room is drafty.

Her bedroom door is closed upstairs, and he doesn't try to test whether it's locked. He just knocks.

"Who is it?" Johanna's voice asks, muffled by the wooden door.

He snorts. "Uh, Mister Jamesworth from down the street. I think our mail's been switched."

"By all means, come in."

He opens the door to her bedroom and, for the sake of comfort, remains by the doorjamb, bracing an arm against it so he's not just standing there awkwardly like an idiot. Johanna sits cross-legged on the floor against her bed. "It ain't a shitty idea," he apologizes.

Of all reactions, she laughs. "I'm not the one you had to convince of that, old man."

"Yeah, I know." He sighs. "Look, you just startled me. Kissing wasn't on my schedule," he laughs, throaty because he's scared. "I didn't - I ain't very perceptive when it comes to considering someone may actually see me as anything like that." He can't meet her gaze now. "I've only coped with people before, and I don't want to just cope with you."

"Me neither," she admits. "Though I figured you'd be better than any of my exes here."

He smirks a little. "Oh, do I need to be on the lookout?"

"Not at all. So did somebody have a long pondering on the outcome of this and the effects of that?" While her voice is smug, underneath he knows she's just as nervous.

The wood grain of the door is remarkably ornate. "Yes."

"And what did you conclude?"

Not one for explaining himself well with words, he enters and crosses the room, kneeling on the ground with her. Something in his back twinges but he stubbornly ignores it; he's no old man.

He kisses her, slow and sweet to signify his feelings, not his intentions. He'll let her decide the outcome of this.

She pulls away slightly, giving them space to breathe, to understand, and she decides. She's almost frantic as she kisses him, gripping his hair but not so aggressive that it hurts. It's just like her, Haymitch notices.

Moving from the floor onto her bed, she's stripped off her sweater and works at his jacket zipper. When she pushes him back onto the bed, he lets her, aware of her past mistreatment, until he acquires some sense.

"Wait," he rasps, sitting up again. "This is _not_ a shitty idea but it is stupid if we don't have any-"

Johanna chuckles, climbing on top of him to straddle him. "District doctor." She kisses him. "Shots, last week. We're fine." She kisses him again.

"So fucking smart," he breathes as he plants his lips down the length of her neck - splotched red - and runs his fingers across her back.

Once Haymitch has settled against the bed, Johanna smirks above him. "Call it wishful thinking." He grins, reaching to pull her toward him.

As they peel off more layers of clothes, the temperature of the house makes its harsh reappearance, and they shiver almost bare against each other. Before Haymitch suggests moving downstairs to the fireplace, Johanna hastily turns over the comforter and its sheet underneath. They climb inside, and after that, the cold isn't much of a problem.

While he can only hope it's a new, better experience from her last, it's definitely different for him. Haymitch is used to darkness, not much eye contact, nothing prolonged - just coping with people he trusted but didn't love. With Johanna, he works to make sure she's sated as well as cherished. He doesn't have time to anguish over the first time - she doesn't let him - but the second they both enjoy, taking their time exploring the other.

After, he holds her close, warm and tired and unbelievably happy. He considers telling her he loves her but decides against it, planning on a time where it won't seem at all insincere.

Instead, he kisses her head, and she smiles up at him, and soon they're laughing and writhing again like _this_ was why they disobeyed orders in the first place. They always said they needed each other.

 

One morning he finds Beetee's note in his back pants pocket. Unfolding it, Haymitch reads a bunch of numbers. It's not Beetee's phone number, he knows, or even a phone number at all when there aren't enough numbers in the first set to be an area code.

He keeps it with him the entire day, studying it during his breaks. He shows it to Johanna as they walk home, and she tells him it's a date.

"For what?" he asks as he looks it over again and, scolding himself, recognizes the set of numbers. "It ain't the reaping day or anything."

Johanna shrugs. "I don't know. It hasn't passed yet so I guess we'll just see what happens on that day."

He kisses her - just because. "I bet it's the end of the world."

"Beetee _would_ know that," she agrees, smiling against his lips.

 

Summer is nearing, and they're not sure how to prepare for a summer without a Hunger Games or a war. Beetee's message has left Haymitch on edge, and he fears the date.

The signal goes out for a mandatory viewing one day, which leaves the district uneasy. Televisions automatically switch on that night, another familiar procedure from before the rebellion.

Leaving their plates of chicken and greens at kitchen table, Johanna sits on the couch and watches morosely as the new seal of Panem flashes on the screen along with the new national anthem. When Haymitch doesn't join her immediately, she turns and finds him searching a drawer for the slip of paper.

"Hey, while you're over there, hold my dick."

"Hilarious." Haymitch scans the date, just to be sure, and it's not today. While he sighs in relief, his curiosity wills the day to arrive sooner.

"You didn't laugh," Johanna whines, crestfallen, as he joins her on the couch.

"What's Coin said so far?" he asks, nodding toward the screen.

Johanna sighs. "Well, she began by saying that we've been very, very obedient Thirteen clones and that it's quite remarkable no one's so much as complained about how there should have been more people present when we supposedly elected her."

"Are you lying, by chance?" He smiles and shushes her immediate retort to listen.

On screen, President Alma Coin drones on about the duty of the people versus the duty of a leader. "I have weighed the outcome and discussed this decision with my advisors, and unanimously, we agree that Panem must end the war fairly in order to settle any resentment between District Fourteen and the other districts. We will finish with what the former Capitol has started, and from then on, we will grow as one united nation."

"Oh, _shit_." Haymitch leans forward in his seat, shaking his head at the president, incredulous.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Johanna echoes as Coin's intentions become clear to her as well.

President Coin announces a final Hunger Games, reaping from the children of the former Capitol.

As she lists the details, Haymitch pulls Beetee's message from his pocket, his hand shaking. "The reaping will commence on the day of the rebel's liberation, the day our Mockingjay martyred herself for the greater good of Panem."

Haymitch hands Johanna the paper. "He must have known."

Johanna rips it to pieces. "The end of the world, all right."

They sit there, fuming in their own ways: Johanna glowers at the television and mutters profanities, her neck splotching, while Haymitch has his head in his hands, thinking so hard his ears burn.

"We have to fight back again. It can't end this way; it won't work," he mutters. Damn it all. If people can be trusted with anything, it would be this cycle of false hope and hypocrisy and violence against each other. One final Hunger Games won't end the war - it'll only spark more generations of bloodlust and even District Fourteen's own uprising, and constant political unrest isn't a good look on Panem.

Johanna shakes her head. "Haymitch, we're not ready for another war. We won't be able to handle it so soon."

"Oh, I know," he replies, innocently yet anything but.

Her eyes search his unperturbed expression for an answer. Giving up, she says, "Okay, I _seriously_ don't understand what the hell you're talking about, then."

"There can't be a war if there ain't anyone to fight against."

At that, Johanna's face darkens but her eyes are alight with mischief, much like his own. "Oh, we couldn't." But she knows they most certainly _could_. Assassinating a woman whose plans would unravel everything the rebellion had fought for would be the nobler of their kills.

"Why the doubt, my girl?" Haymitch asks, wrapping an arm around her, grinning like the world is ending and he knew it would, knew for a long enough time to have a plan to stop it. Beetee knew, and he had warned Haymitch that something was coming that would determine their nation's future, and he had hope entrusting it with Haymitch. "We've broken the rules before."


End file.
